


dearest one, my darling dear

by NalgeneWhore



Series: For The Dancing and The Dreaming [2]
Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Canon, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Flirting as Fighting, Threats of Violence, Witches, protective fluff, soft fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28536312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NalgeneWhore/pseuds/NalgeneWhore
Summary: this is set in the same au as 'promise me your heart' but not a sequel/is not connected besides setting <3 and since i am obsessed with this au, ive made it a series to add more !
Relationships: Elide Lochan/Lorcan Salvaterre
Series: For The Dancing and The Dreaming [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2090469
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24





	dearest one, my darling dear

**Author's Note:**

> this is set in the same au as 'promise me your heart' but not a sequel/is not connected besides setting <3 and since i am obsessed with this au, ive made it a series to add more !

Iron claws whizzed, a mere centimetre from his face and Lorcan quickly snapped his head back, returning the blow with a swirling arc of his gleaming hatchet. 

The witch, with hair darker than a starless night, nimbly spun away, striking back once more with her nails and a dizzying flurry of kicks. 

They fought viciously in the make-shift training ring, icy mud slipping beneath them. Neither ceded ground, always fighting back, never giving in. His magic buzzed around him, but Lorcan didn’t touch it. 

Steel and iron screeched, paining his delicate ears, as Elide stopped his sword with her hand and twisted it from his grip. It was sent spinning away. She slashed with her other hand, easily ducking his hatchet. A snarl ripped from her throat as the tip of it grazed her cheekbone and Elide launched herself at Lorcan. 

Her arms encircled his middle and Lorcan fell down with a surprised grunt, his back crashed into the unforgiving ground. 

Elide gripped his wrist and slammed it down, forcing his hand to open. His axe skittered away and Elide quickly pinned his elbows down with her knees, her chest rising and falling erratically. Those iron fangs of hers glinted as she grinned triumphantly, “I win.” 

A large cry, mixed with outrage and elation, went through the crowd that had gathered. Lorcan saw the flash of coins being exchanged and smiled up at his wife, “Well done, witchling.” 

Her pale cheeks were marked with dark freckles and splattered with mud alike. The cut on her high cheekbone was already healing, tinged a pale blue as her skin stitched itself together. Elide cackled and retracted her teeth as she shoved off him and stood up, offering him a dirty hand. 

Lorcan groaned slightly as he accepted her hand and stood. He stooped to kiss her cheek, just over the cut, “Apologies, my heart.” 

She chuckled and collected his weapons, passing them to him. “I’m only surprised I let you get that close.” 

He jokingly held his hand to his heart, “Do you really think that lowly of my abilities?” 

Elide simply hummed and pulled him with her out of the ring, so that her witches could train. Lorcan loosed a low laugh and they dumped their outer garments in front of their _vardo_ before they slipped off to the springs behind. 

Steam rose from the collection of pools. The witch pulled her loose undershirt from her body and stripped her leggings, leaving them both in a neat pile before she stepped into the hot water. A low, rasping groan slipped from her round lips and heated Lorcan’s blood. 

He joined her after leaving his mud-coated garments beside hers. Elide slowly floated over to his embrace and leaned back into his chest. Her head lazed back onto his shoulder when Lorcan wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her shoulder, his stubbled cheek fitting against Elide’s soft, smooth skin. 

Neither said a word as they washed their bodies and hair and relaxed, simply enjoying each other’s presence. 

Lorcan redonned his pants and tossed his shirt to his wife. Elide gratefully caught it and slipped it over her now-pliant body. It grazed her mid-thighs and Lorcan stared at the hem for longer than he cared to admit. 

Elide laughed and walked back to the carriage, her hips swishing from side to side. He sunk his pointed canines into his bottom lip to control himself and dutifully followed. She paused at the curve of the path and cocked her head to the side, “Taking our sweet time, are we?” 

In response, Lorcan sent a shadow of his power to pinch the curve of her ass and laughed darkly when she squeaked at the feeling, her cheeks tinged blue as she blushed. Before he could be reprimanded, Lorcan ran and picked her up, hauling her over his shoulder like a sack of flour. 

Elide yelped and slammed her fists against his back, “Put me down.” 

He didn’t listen and with his arm banded like a vice over the backs of her thighs, Elide couldn’t move unless she really wanted to. Honestly, she preferred this. It was far easier than walking. 

With his long legs and purposeful strides, Lorcan was setting her down on top step to the door in a few short moments.

Elide pushed the door open and walked in, going to their trunk to root through it for suitable clothes. Lorcan stepped in, having to duck his head and curl his broad shoulders to fit. She chuckled at the sight and stood up after he’d closed the door, sliding her hand up his chest as she rose onto the tips of her toes and kissed him. 

He hummed and slid his arm around her waist, dipping her slightly. “Don’t get distracted,” Lorcan murmured, his teeth grazing over her full bottom lip. “The gathering is tomorrow.” 

She pulled back, a brow arched, “You would go an entire day?” 

Shrugging, Lorcan tossed something behind her and grinned wickedly, “Wouldn’t you?” 

Her sly smile, phantom fangs glinting over her white teeth, told him enough. They stared at each other, lust and desire rolling beneath their skins, so close to snapping. Elide, who had always possessed far greater self-control, shoved a bundle of clothes into his hands, “You should tend to your blades.” 

Lorcan laughed quietly and kissed her cheek, “Of course. I’ve got to keep them sharp for the reunion.” 

Elide snorted and they both dressed efficiently, not wasting any more time. She would have to speak to her second and third today, reinforce the plan and make sure her witches would keep themselves in line. 

Lorcan was dressed first and left Elide on their bed, a mirror propped on one of the trunks as she did her braids. 

He sat on the steps and cleaned the mud and grime from his sword with a rag. Next to him, there was a bucket of water that he dipped his whetstone in. He dragged it over the edge, grinding down the nick left by his darling’s nails. 

Satisfied, he put it down and picked up his hatchet. Lorcan always got a little melancholy when he handled the weapon, thinking of its twin hanging from another male’s hip. 

It wasn’t often that Lorcan yearned for his old life. And no matter what, there was nothing that could convince him to trade it for the one he now lived. 

_Shing_ went the stone as he put it to the edge. Oddly, the sound had always soothed him, having spent centuries in war camps. 

_Shing. Shing. Shing._

His ears twitched and his nostrils flared delicately as he scented a group of people approaching.

Preternatural stillness settled over him and he glanced over his shoulder, still sensing Elide inside. 

The dark, death-blessed demi-fae looked up as three pairs of ungraceful feet thudded across the clearing of flattened grass. 

Their _vardo_ was set separated from the others - to grant the clan matron and her lover privacy. 

Iskra Yellowlegs’ brutish face stared at him, that cruel sneer twisting her thin lips like always. “Half-breed.” 

Lorcan didn’t deign her with an answer. It took more than calling him a _half-breed_ to anger him. Inside, he sensed his wife stiffen and her near noiseless footsteps stole over the carpets they laid over the wooden floorboards. 

“We come for Elide Blackbeak.” 

He rapped on the door with the blade of his hatchet, a subtle pattern that to the untrained, seemed like a normal knock. Idly, he summoned his dark power and let it play, seeping from him and dancing around. 

The three Yellowlegs muttered protective spells and he bit back his chuckle.

_Shing. Shing. Shing._

The door opened and Lorcan felt Elide behind him. He didn’t shift, only flicking his eyes, planning an exit, keeping her as covered as he could. “Iskra Yellowlegs. To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

Elide ached to reach out to Lorcan, to touch his shoulder and have his powerful body beneath her ground her, but she controlled herself. He was her weakness, and everyone knew it. It would only make it worse. 

“Is that why you keep him around, Elide? To summon you like a good little mutt?” Iskra’s indelicate ignorance of Elide’s question didn’t go unnoticed. 

The Blackbeak witch bristled at the insult, her iron nails threatening to break through, but she let nothing show on her face. “Isn’t that all males are good for?” 

Elide stepped down to the stair Lorcan was sitting on and he looked side-long at her, promising to show her later what, exactly, _males were good for_.

_Looking forward to it, Salvaterre._

“I come to remind you of the gathering tomorrow.” 

“Surely one of your underlings is good enough for that,” Elide responded. Before Iskra could answer, a smirk curled the corner of Elide’s lips, plush like a fresh piece of fruit and just as sweet. “Oh,” she practically purred, sliding her hand down Lorcan’s arm to take his hatchet and study the blade, “I forget how incompetent your witches are. My mistake.” 

Lorcan couldn’t help his laugh that time and lazily braced his corded forearms against his spread knees, his large, scar-flecked and bronzed hands loosely clasped between. 

Iskra glared at him and bared her teeth, which were rusted and cracked, _“Does that animal of yours ever speak?”_

He carefully put on a face of blank unknowingness as the Yellowlegs heir switched to the common Ironteeth tongue. Lorcan looked at his wife, as if asking, _Am I really that pretty to be taken for that stupid?_

Her eyes glittered with mirth, _Go on then, love. Answer her._

 _“When he wants to,”_ Lorcan spoke, his pronunciation immaculate. 

Their insipid, yellow tinged eyes widened and Elide made a dismissive motion with her hand. “The Blackbeak clan will be there. Run along now. My _animal_ tires of your presence.”

The Yellowlegs were quick to scurry back to their broken-down camp. Elide sat down next to Lorcan and turned his face towards hers, “You’re alright?” Her eyes searched his face until he nodded and kissed her shortly. “Good,” she whispered. Elide pulled away and stood up, “I have to meet with Manon and Asterin.” 

“I’ll check the caravans and the horses.” 

They parted, each to their own duties. 

Neither saw the other for the rest of the day. Night was just beginning to fall when Elide’s meeting was finally over. The Yellowlegs’ visit had rattled them. There was no feasible reason for them to drop by for such a puny reminder. 

They had seen Lorcan, seen them still soft with intimacy, and seen how he spoke their language. 

Her heart fluttered anxiously and she retracted her nails and flicked them out, repeating the motion over and over. 

The moment she turned the corner, Elide saw a trail of smoke coming from their van’s iron stove. A small smile ghosted over her lips and she walked faster, still glancing around to check before she pushed through the door. 

Lorcan was sprawled on the soft floor, reading a book with a frown on his brow. 

“Hello, there,” Elide said softly. 

He looked at her and shared a grin as he rose to his feet. “Hello, witchling.” 

Elide hummed and melted when Lorcan slid his big arms around her waist and tucked her into his chest. She rested her cheek on his shoulder and whispered, kissing the side of his neck, “Did you make me dinner?” 

“Nah, I ate with the Thirteen and we saved you some.” 

“Oh, that’s nice,” she whispered, “let me get changed and we’ll eat?” 

“Yes, Lee,” Lorcan murmured, spinning her to their clothes trunk. He grabbed her a bowl and served her the richest of rabbit stews, sweet cornbread beside it and a mug of strong tea. 

He poured himself some tea, too, and splashed whiskey into both mugs. Elide padded over to the built in couch, wearing a pair of loose shorts and a wool sweater of his, her hair loose in a low bun. 

Lorcan passed her the bowl and the mug, sitting down next to her. He folded his leg between them and Elide moved so that her side was resting against his front and his thigh was behind her back. “How was your day?”

“Good,” he said, his chin on her head. “Everything’s packed and ready. Horses are feeding and sleeping. Brooms are protected.” 

“Oh, good. Thank you.” 

Lorcan kissed the top of her head, “My pleasure, Elide.” 

The matron ate quickly, until her stomach was warm and full. She took the last bit of cornbread and cleaned the remaining drippings, holding it to his lips. Lorcan accepted the bite and kissed the pad of her thumb. She smiled.

After, they drank their tea. Elide talked about her worries and they sat in a soft silence. Lorcan gently put their mugs away and carried Elide to bed. 

He settled her down, laying beside her to hold her to his chest. Elide whined in protest and turned to face him, her brow pressed into his chin. Her head was cradled by his bicep, her nose scrunched against the tattooed muscle. 

Lorcan’s blackened heart melted at the softness. That he was the only person she let see this… this peace of hers. He pressed a kiss to her brow and fell asleep, dreaming of nothing in particular.

They woke when the sun shined through the light curtains. Elide rose with a crackling spine, her arms stretched above her head with a satisfied groan.

She clambered over him and dressed in her blackest of leathers, her raven feather braided into her hair. Elide left him with a quick kiss, “Don’t sleep too late, we’ve got to go.” 

Lorcan cursed at her, his words muffled by the pillow, and told her to get off his dick. She laughed and flicked his ass on her way out.

“Devil witch!” 

“Devil fae,” she called back, closing the door and walking away. Already, her witches were packing. Little wee witchlings ran about, holding their cloaks and laughing. Elide caught one and lifted her up, tossing her into the sky. She caught the toddler and carried her against her hip, holding another’s hand. “Come along, my babies. We’re going to a _war_ council, whee!” 

The meeting didn’t run long and just as it ended, someone popped their head in, “Council? Everything is ready. Sun’s… mid morning.” 

Elide turned and smiled at her husband. His face softened when he saw the children and the walking child toddled over to him. Lorcan picked her up and bounced her, “Hello, there. Aren't we a wee ‘lil lassie.”

The babe giggled and clapped her hands, squealing when Lorcan tickled her toe. He laughed and cooed over her as he waited for the witches. 

Soon enough, they were riding. They’d decided to leave their camp and a young coven was left behind to guard. 

The gathering was to be held atop a plateau, golden grasses rustling around the flat of black granite. The Blackbeaks were the last clan to arrive and they arrived wordlessly. Elide glared at whoever dared to stare at Lorcan for longer than was necessary. 

They all quickly submitted under her violence-promised look and she smirked. Lorcan shook his head at her display of possessiveness and felt her claiming deep in his gut. 

He dismounted from his horse, Farasha, first. The black beast stomped her hooves, making them clatter against the hard rock, and huffed, her exhale turning into steam. Lorcan rubbed her nose and whispered something to her. Her eyes were still wild and rolled around to see everything, but she calmed slightly as her rider soothed her. 

Elide looked down at him from her own horse and her eyes sparkled when Lorcan offered her his hand and helped her down. 

No one could ignore the magnetism and energy roiling around them as Manon and Asterin flanked their matron. They walked in a diamond to the centre, other Yellowlegs and Bluebloods parting for them. Lorca walked at the back and his power manifested itself, curling around the second and third like smoke. 

It seeked out Elide, slinking around her hips like it wished to pull her back into her husband’s safety. A viper’s grin spread across Elide’s lips and she heard the heavy clinking over her love’s weaponry. 

The witches were not permitted to bring their weapons to gatherings, but Lorcan, as fae, was free to do as he liked. What he liked was to wear as many weapons conceivable. They were all ancient, like him, and the witches he passed could sense it deep in their bones. 

Elide stopped when she reached the rough circle that had been formed. Her iron fangs glinted in the hazy sun when she smiled, her eyes gleaming. “Good morning, Matrons.” 

That Yellowlegs hag spat back, “It’s far past _morning_ , Blackbeak.” 

A look of mock surprise appeared on Elide’s face, “Oh, oh, no. Do forgive us. We’re terribly sorry.” 

The matron’s wrinkled face twisted in rage and she prepared to spew something nasty, but the ever-calm Blueblood matron cut in, her strawberry-blonde hair shining in its braids, “This is a peaceful gathering, Matrons. It matters not when the Blackbeaks arrived.” 

Elide smiled politely at Petrah. As babes, it had been fated that they would be rivals, as clan leaders, but the two of them had always understood each other on some basic level. They didn’t fight, both understanding they wanted for the same things. “Shall we begin then?” 

The other matrons nodded and though the Yellowlegs grumbled, they took their seats on the makeshift thrones they summoned. Elide was the only witch who summoned two, of equal size and vestige. She took Lorcan’s hand again as he escorted her to the seat and took his right next to her, silent. He propped his elbow against the armrest and leaned his chin on his fist, the tattoo on his left ring finger proudly shown. If one looked to Elide as she pulled her gloves off, they would see the matching marking on hers. 

Like always, Lorcan did not speak as the meeting went on. Iskra glared at him, anger and disgust in her eyes. Elide occasionally glanced at her, wondering when the day would come, the one where Iskra made one too many remarks on her husband and Elide would be allowed and even encouraged to respond with claws and fangs. 

Like the rest of her unorganised and undisciplined pack of weaklings, Iskra let her emotions fight for her and as a result, was sloppy. 

Elide would very much enjoy smashing her face into the ground. 

After a while, Elide reached out for his hand and slid her fine-boned fingers through his, her thumb stroking over the back of his hand. Quiet joy radiated from a strand of that death magic as it flitted over to her, like a butterfly. She watched as Petrah rapped the butt of her staff on the ground, “It is clear to us all that the Yellowlegs covens have been ignoring the treaty lines. Your witches are not allowed over the ruins of Morla. That is Blackbeak lands, and to the south of the forest, is Blueblood.” 

The Yellowlegs matron scowled and scoffed, “We are nomads. This land should not be bordered.” 

“It would not have to be,” Elide said drily, her snake-like eyes snapping to the matron, “if you could control your bitches. You signed the treaty, Matron. Your lands are to the north, and to the north only. That is the ruling.” 

For a short while, the Yellowlegs attempted to argue, but Elide and Petrah quickly finished it. There would be resentment and neither clan would be able to relax their guardings, but the Yellowlegs would not dare break their word. 

Manon leaned into Elide’s ear and whispered something low. Iskra studied them. Elide nodded, agreeing with her second’s strategy. The Thirteen would leave soon after, to prepare the camp and double their protections. They would employ Lorcan’s powers to shroud them. 

“It sure is a shame, Elide,” Iskra said, voice haughty. 

Her second slid back to her position and clasped her hands before her. Elide cocked her head to the side and Lorcan went eerily still. “And what, exactly, are you talking about?” 

The clan heir shrugged and stood up, casually scraping the dirt from beneath her fingernails with the tip of her dagger. “It’s a shame that you had to settle for _that_ when you had Manon.” 

Lorcan’s hand tightened in hers, telling her to let it go, but Elide could not. 

A roar that shook the stones beneath them tore from her throat. Elide launched herself across the plateau and when she landed, the ground trembled. She relished the power that rushed through her legs. Faster than Iskra could react, Elide grabbed the back of her head and brought it down, smashing her knee into Iskra’s face. 

They heard the sickening crunk of the Yellowlegs’ nose. Iskra howled in pain and Elide used the distraction to twist the witch’s arm behind her and shoved her to the ground. 

Before Iskra could turn, Elide dug her knee into her back and wrenched her head up before slamming it back down into the rock. Iskra whimpered in pain and Elide leaned down, her metal teeth grazing the shell of Iskra’s ear, “If you speak about my husband again, if you dare even _look_ at him, I will skin you alive and wear your piss-coloured pelt as a cloak.” She slid her hand down to the back of Iskra’s neck and dug her nails into the skin, blue blood slipping down. “Is that understood?” 

Iskra nodded and Elide shoved off her. 

She didn’t look back at the witch as she peeled herself off the ground and walked back to Lorcan. Pride shone on his face and his eyes stormed with a mixture of carnal hunger. Elide stalked towards him and fit herself between his legs. She gripped his throat, her sharp nails digging into his sensitive skin, and pushed his head back. 

The kiss she pressed to his full lips was biting and claiming, marking him. Lorcan gave into her command, his hands ghosting over the backs of her thighs, searing even through her leathers. 

Elide pulled herself away, their lips reddened and love-bitten. _I love you_.

 _Forever and always_. 

She sat down in her seat and regarded the others, daring them to comment. 

As they sat, it was almost too difficult to look at them, to look at the full-force of their love. 

They were Death incarnate and love triumphant. 

A goddess and her consort, put on this earth to roam for eternity, always together, forever home.


End file.
